


Don't Leave Me Be

by hrrybb



Series: I wanna carry all of your children [4]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Kidfic, Kidfic Verse, Light Angst, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 04:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11936652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrrybb/pseuds/hrrybb
Summary: “Look,” Harry starts, causing Nick’s chest to seize up uneasily. He sounds overworked and upset. Nick doesn’t feel ready for whatever he’s about to say, and his mind reels with terrible conclusions. That Harry’s extending his stay in America, that he finally realized how old Nick’s getting or maybe that someone’s called child protective services on him for letting Clover drink her cocoa too hot.Alternatively, Harry is in a Mood™ and Nick lets it fuck up his life a bit.





	Don't Leave Me Be

**Author's Note:**

> This was titled "single dad sadness" in my wips soooo...  
> This has also only been quasi-edited, so bear with me...imo it gets better as it goes?  
> There's still lots more where this came from and I'm trying to force myself to finish/post some stuff cause tbh I've lost interest in writing as much recently. 
> 
> Obviously this is my own work of fiction therefore this is all very fake and not real.  
> Also this verse isn't in order so enjoy in any order you'd like! 
> 
> ENJOY!

APRIL 2024 

It's a quiet Friday night and Nick’s in the living room with a faux fur throw over his legs, Pig snuggled against his hip and Sprouts laying over his feet, everything feeling oddly calm for once. The kids are asleep and the house is silent apart from Pig’s throaty breathing and the wind outside making the windows creak a bit. It’s been especially cold this spring, and he’s hated every minute of it. He finds his mind drifting off from the book in his lap and feels lucky that they haven’t had to put the fireplace on at all this month.

The front door slams and wakes him from his thoughts, his eyes flicking up from their glazed over place on the page. Harry stomps up the stairs in a huff, throwing his bag onto the floor. The dogs stir and Sprouts runs over to greet him, snuffling and grunting. Nick hears Harry shoo him away from around the corner.

“Sprouts!” Nick calls him back to him when Harry doesn’t immediately come and flop himself onto the couch for a cuddle. Something’s wrong.

Harry’s been in the studio a lot lately. He’s supposed to be working on some no-pressure solo stuff, but Nick knows he’s struggling; that he wants it to be the best. Nick reckons it might be the last real stuff he does for a while.

Normally, Nick tries to let it go when Harry’s upset. He knows it’s rarely about him, or them when he’s like this. He just reheats him some dinner or makes sure to let him be the little spoon on nights when Harry comes home like this.

Nick stares down at his novel, listening to Harry’s footsteps storming around the bedroom above. He sits there for five extra minutes once they stop, pretending he’s acting normal for Pig so she doesn’t get in a huff herself. Mostly though, he’s giving Harry time to cool off, because he’s not always above picking a fight in this type of mood.

Nick bookmarks his page after another minute, not that it really matters since he hasn’t been paying attention for the last chapter. No wonder he never liked to read. The dogs stand up with him, following at his heels all the way up the stairs.

Nick cracks the door to their bedroom quietly, suddenly feeling thankful that he’d changed into joggers earlier. Harry’s across the dark, wide room, tucked halfway under the covers and curled in on himself. The neon above their bed’s been left on, but Nick doesn’t trust its message tonight. _It’s alright_. He tiptoes to his side of the bed, unable to help himself from staring at Harry’s sleeping pout illuminated in the pink light. He wants to take it as a win that Harry’s not facing away, but he knows he shouldn’t.

Harry rolls out of bed early as hell and slams the kitchen cupboards downstairs as Nick blinks blearily at the green numbers on the clock. He can tell Harry’s mood has gotten worse; the light above the bed is off. Nick wonders if he should get up and try to work through it, but he stays in bed, waiting for sleep to take him away again. And it does, for a few hours, until his alarm goes off.

Harry’s in the bedroom again when Nick wakes up, packing his suitcase at the end of the bed.

“Hey babe. C’mere,” Nick invites sleepily, trying to be sweet. He rolls and reaches a hand out towards him.

Harry silently accepts the touch, letting Nick squeeze his hand before pulling back and going to the wardrobe.

“Are you alright?” Nick asks, fumbling along the nightstand for his glasses. He sits up and tries to scooch closer to Harry’s bag.

“Yes,” Harry lies, his voice tense.

“Do you want t-”

“Go wake the kids, please.”

It only launches them in an argument over whether they should even take the kids with them to see Harry off at the airport or not.

“I want to see them, Nick,” Harry tells him sternly, balling up a tshirt and chucking it into his duffle.

“It's so early,” Nick tries to disagree with him, staring over his shoulder at the alarm clock. Five. It's funny that he considers this early now.

“I just - want to spend to spend some time with them today.” Harry zips his bag shut and thumps down the stairs, ending the argument.

Nick sighs. “Why don’t you just stay home then,” he whispers to himself bitterly.

After a moment, he trudges unhappily to go wake the kids. A sudden fear digs deep that whatever’s bugging Harry might be more than just a bad day at the studio.

Paisley’s already up, gently rolling around his crib on his chubby belly.

“Hi, buddy. Hi, Pais. Good morning my sweet boy. Rise and shine!” Nick coos at him until he hears another bang downstairs from Harry. Nick hefts Paisley up, doing a quick job of changing his nappy before settling him into his car carrier.

Next, Ginger gives a high pitched scream right in his ear as he lifts her from her crib, scaring her brother into sad whimpers in the doorway. When he's finally convinced her it’s a good idea to be awake, he hoists her onto his hip and goes to wake Clover. She just rolls herself into a burrito made of bedding when he asks her to get out of bed.

“No! I don't wanna,” she groans, tucking herself further beneath her quilt.

“Daddy Harry has to go to the airport, don't you want to say goodbye?”

Her mouth is turned down into a pout bigger than any Harry’s ever displayed as she stomps into a pair of metallic leggings.

They come downstairs to the sight of Harry doing toast for them all, and Nick’s heart gives a little empty hope that his mood will be over. It’s not though, and he avoids Nick as he waits for him to get the kids ready.

Nick’s wrangling the girls into their coats when Harry comes into the front hall, standing stiffly in the doorway. “Car’s here.”

Nick hates that Harry has to leave, especially like this. Taking care of three kids alone, as much as he loves them, is fucking tough. Having Harry go away with something bothering him so much he feels like he can’t speak to Nick about it is even worse.

The car is quiet on the way to the airport, the tension in the air tangible. Harry only speaks to tell Clover to stop kicking the back of his seat.

When they finally reach the airport, Harry breaks his silence.

“Bye baby,” he whispers when Clover scrambles out of her seatbelt to hug him over the middle seat. He kisses the top of her head and then her pink cheek. “Love you.”

“I love you Daddy,” Clover replies, squeezing a tiny fist around the curls by Harry’s ear.

“They’re asleep,” Nick mentions, noticing that Ginger and Paisley have both been lulled back to sleep on the drive. “Leave them, please.” He doesn’t need the added stress of waking them prematurely for the second time today.

Harry nods and reaches to run his fingers down Ginger’s cheek. “Love you Ging. Love you Paisley,” he tells them quietly before turning back to Nick.

“I love you,” Nick tells him earnestly. He just wants him to know. The whole of Harry’s mood still isn’t sitting well in Nick’s stomach, and it’s obvious that something’s still picking at him. He doesn’t know when they’ll be able to talk properly.

Harry leans in and gives him a quick peck on the mouth, not much of a reply. “Alright, I’ve got to go. Be good for your daddy, okay, Clov?”

“Okay,” she mumbles, scrubbing at one eye with her hand. Nick reaches a hand over the seat and tells her not to cry.

“I’ll be back soon, baby. Dad’s taking you guys to the park today, it’ll be fun,” Harry promises her.

And then he’s gone. He leaps out of the car with just a final wave and grabs his suitcase from the driver. Nick watches as he meets Claire and Stefan from his team inside the massive glass doors of the airport.

Just like that, Nick’s left in the car with the kids, the cornucopia of things that must accompany a trio of kids under the age of six and a house without Harry to go back to. Nick directs Marcus, the driver, to take them back towards home. Nick had promised the girls a fun day at the park, in hopes that they would forget about Harry leaving. It’s not for long, anyways. He’s just going on one of his routine check-ups with the label in LA and he’s got a flight booked back in a few days.

\--

Nick’s stopped them in a little crowded cafe as shelter from the sudden torrential downpour of rain. The girls had been at the park for a hot minute, Clover sitting on the ground playing hairdresser to Ginger, her hands pressed together and combing her sister’s thick hair into a mohawk. Ginger had started to scream and cry just as Nick spotted the rain clouds they had promised on the radio this morning and he’d slung her into her pushchair as fast as he could.

The kids have been acting up all morning, if he’s honest. Clover always gets into a bit of a strop when Harry has to leave, even when she’s allowed to say goodbye at the airport like today. Ginger is reaching her ‘terrible twos’, and frankly, Nick’s terrified. And of course, Paisley’s teething and he’s just been whimpering and fussy in his bjorn all day. To top it all off, Nick’s still suffering from last week’s cold and he’s got a hole in his left trainer that’s made his sock go all soggy.

They crowd in line at the cafe and Clover starts a squeezing hold on his hand that makes Nick think she might need the loo. God, why did he agree to let Harry go away again? He heaves a sigh and looks up to menu, stroking his free hand through the thick fuzz on the top of Paisley’s head that’s smushed in next to his chest, in an attempt to calm them both.

“Dad? Can I have a hot cocoa?” Clover asks, tugging on his hand.

“Do you need a wee?” Nick asks, ignoring her question.

She looks up at her forehead like she’s trying to measure how full her bladder is. “Nope.” She pushes some little wispy hairs away from her face and tugs her coat down over her crotch. Nick sighs again. He hopes she’s not just saying that so that she can get a drink.

“Alright, love.”

He pushes Ginger’s buggy closer to the cash register with his hip and orders Clover’s hot chocolate, a large espresso drink for himself, and enough snacks to wait out the storm. He manages to successfully get them all from the register to the pick-up counter before Ginger starts wailing again, out of nowhere.

“Oh god,” Nick moans, immediately crouching down beside her pushchair. His knees pop loudly as a reminder that he’s closer to death every day. “Shh, no, Ginger. Stop crying, what is it? Shh, you’re okay,” he soothes mindlessly, adjusting the straps around her chest. “You want a muffin? Are you hungry? Dad will get you a muffin, love.”

She continues crying, balling her hands into fists but not saying anything. Paisley stirs abruptly in his bjorn and it’s just then that Nick realizes he’s been sleeping. “You’ve woken your brother,” Nick chides quietly before asking Clover to dig around in the diaper bag for an extra snack.

Above him somewhere, he hears a woman cluck her tongue. “Aww, must be hard, that,” she says, looking down on Nick struggling to parent his children as she unwraps a straw at the counter.

She’s old - well, older than Nick, by at least a decade. She’s got a horrendous purple top on and her short hair has definitely seen some old-fashioned curlers in the last twenty-four hours. Nick can hardly wait to hear what she has to say. “Three’s a load. I only ever had one, myself. Of course, she’s grown and gone now. Look at you just starting out.” She’s got a patronizing tone that makes Nick’s hackles stand like a cat. He hopes she’s not about to insult them, because he doesn’t feel above starting a fight today.

“Yep,” he replies absently, giving her a bland smile. “Here, look, G, Clov brought you a snack,” he tells Ginger as her sister fathoms some rice puffs from the back of the stroller. He pulls the package open and forces it into her little hand. Thankfully, she takes it and pops one into her mouth, but it only reduces her crying to a whimper.

“It looks like you’re struggling. Have you got a toy for her?” The woman asks like she’s being helpful. Nick’s stomach drops - he hasn’t. In their haste to get Harry to the airport this morning, he’d dragged the kids out of bed as quickly as possible and had accidentally left Ginger’s favourite plush puppy in her crib. Not that he’s about to tell the woman that. He keeps his head down and doesn’t respond.

“How old is your youngest?” The woman asks, trying again. Nick looks up again to see her swirling the straw wrapper around her finger, an odd smile on her face. She looks like she’d have an awful name. Like Mildred.

“Nick?” the barista calls from behind the counter, sliding a tray towards him. He stands to collect it, dropping the bottle of water into the diaper bag.

“Eight months,” Nick tells the woman, gently handing the little cup of cocoa over to Clover. “Be careful babe, it’s hot.”

Too excited about the prospect of sweets, Clover tips the cup up to her lips and immediately lets out a little scream. Her eyes well up but Nick has never been more glad that she’s not a sobber.

“I told you it was hot! You're alright,” Nick says, grabbing the cup away. He lifts the lid off gently and blows over the liquid, being especially careful not to splash any on the top of Paisley’s head. _That_ would truly be a disaster.

Clover shoves her face into the side of Nick’s coat. He sighs, but supposes this won’t be the first time they’ve gotten snot all over Prada.

“Should’a done that part first,” Mildred tells him, her voice oddly chipper for how horrible she’s being. Nick rebels against the need to roll his eyes dramatically and slosh the entire drink on _her_ head.

Harry would have thought of that, to blow on the drink, if he was here. Fuck, why is he so entirely dependant on Harry to properly father his own damn kids?

Nick smooths Clover’s hair down with his free hand, her face still stuffed into his jacket. “It’s alright, here. Be careful now.” She pulls her head away, sniffing hard and looking awfully too much like Harry with her face like that.

He bends down to hand her the cup, slipping the lid back on and trying not to cry himself. Ginger’s still whimpering and a quick peek over his shoulder tells him they’ve officially started holding up the queue.

“This is hard for you,” the woman tells him like she bloody knows him. “I hate to see a widowed family like this.”

Nick barks out a single laugh. He cannot believe she actually just said that. Maybe his hearings gone off with all that he’s endured today. “What?” He asks, turning to look at her. He stands slowly, trying to fight the urge to pounce on this woman.

“I just mean it’s a pity, really. You poor things,” she tuts, oblivious. “How long since your wife passed away?”

Nick’s hands ball into fists. He _really_ can’t punch a stranger, especially a woman, but god he _wants_ to. He opens his mouth to talk, and then there’s a tiny hand worming it’s way into his fist. It’s Clover, wrapping her fingers around his. “I don’t have a dead wife,” he sputters.

Clover steps in front of him defensively. “My _other_ daddy is at work.” Nick squeezes her hand and can’t help the tears that well in his eyes. Over the lady’s shoulder, he can see that the storm has died down. He needs to _get out_. So he reaches down and swings Clover onto his hip, hardly being careful to avoid squishing her brother or sloshing her drink.

It’s only when he’s pushed Ginger’s stroller through the crowd and out the door that he realizes he’s forgotten their purchase. He barely has a moment to care because from across the street there’s a flash of a camera. He instinctively pulls Clover’s hood up over her head and reaches to push the sun visor on the pushchair down as far as he can.

“Nick!” A paparazzi in a raincoat shouts, rushing across the road. The man narrowly avoids being hit by a reversing car before being joined by two more paps.

Nick ignores them as well as he can with three cranky children in tow. He wants to run, if he’s honest. He wants to run as fast as he can down the block. What if they’ve followed them all the way from the airport? God only knows how many pictures of them have been taken today.

“Where’s Harry gone?” One of them calls, walking backwards in front of them. “Clover, where’s your dad?”

Nick blinks fiercely against the flashes. “Don’t talk to them,” he whispers to her.

The men come closer, cameras still clicking. He hates this. He wants to cry, but he steels his jaw and keeps walking forward, head down.

“Enjoying the weather?”

 _No, of course not you bloody idiots_ , Nick wants to yell. His quiff is being flattened by the drizzle and Clover and Paisley are both snuggling into his chest as close as they can against the weather. He’s also quite sure that the hole in his shoe has let in approximately nine litres of rainwater.

Nick just wants to get home. They’re close, but he doesn’t want the paparazzi following them all the way there. Not looking up, he mentally catalogues all the places between here and home that he could duck into to hide for a while. But he doesn’t doubt that they’d just wait for them to come out again.

It’s never ended really, the media attention. The paparazzi and tabloids can’t shake the notion that Harry is desperately unable to commit. He’s still being portrayed as a player, and Nick knows it’s not uncommon to have him painted as a cheater.

It’s why they’re here right now. Because Harry’s gone and Nick trying to take care of three kids on his own makes a great story, even if it ran in three different papers last month too.

“Not today, boys,” Nick tries after a few more comments, trying to show his displeasure in having them around. “Please, we’re just trying to get home.”

“When is Harry coming home?” The first pap asks, squatting down as he walks backward to get a different angle.

Nick would commend them on their talents, if only they were in a different profession. He silently thanks the Queen or whoever bloody came up with the laws allowing them to sue overbearing paps.

He also knows that their question is loaded. That if he tells them, they’ll be all over them again that day. But if he doesn’t answer, it adds fodder to the ‘story’. “Really soon,” he goes with finally, trying his best to speed up and push between them.

They head diligently down the road, Nick trying to take a winding way home despite Clover weighing heavily on his arm. By the time they get back, only one pap is left trailing them.

Pulling his keys quickly from his jeans, he hands the right one to Clover. “Go open the door. Quick!” He watches her scramble up the front steps and abandon her drink on the ledge as he untangles Ginger from the straps of her pushchair.

“Did it!” Clover calls, hanging her body off the handle as it swings open gently. Nick smiles at her, leaving the stroller outside and shutting the gate. He hauls Ginger and Paisley up the stairs, barely able to keep himself from slamming the door closed behind him.

He lets Ginger down when she starts squirming. She toddles off after Clover, who’s rushing down the hall to the family room like nothing had happened. Nick unclasps Paisley’s carrier and drops it to the ground. He sinks down against the door for a minute, holding Paisley tight to his chest and trying not to cry.

\--

Nick’s had a lot of Very Bad Worst Day Evers in his life but he’s starting to think that this one might top all the rest. It might even be worse than that one day where his fridge broke and he had to walk in the pouring rain for a bit of petrol before backing his car into a pole and then puking all over himself whilst making fun of Harry on the phone.

It’s late and he’s in the kitchen, staring intently at the wine cooler when his phone starts to buzz. He ignores it because he’s trying not to be too dramatic in his decision about whether red or white would be a better choice to drown himself in and trying to decide if Harry would be mad if he upended the entire mini-fridge into the bathtub.

His phone stops and immediately starts again. He pulls it out of his pocket. It’s Harry, but he lets it ring out again, knowing that at this point Harry probably won’t give up because he’ll have thought up some horrendously tragic reasons as to why Nick’s not answering.

Nick slinks up to the bedroom, wineless, curling up into the big blue armchair Harry and Lou had rescued from an antiques market. He steels himself before answering when it rings again.

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep casual.

It’s just that after having such a shit day, he’s not ready for this. He’s not sure he can keep quiet while Harry complains about his flight or the maid service or whatever it is that’s bothered him now. He just wants to go to bed and wake up and have the whole last twenty-four hours erased. He just wants Harry in his bed and his life and here with the kids and to not have had to throw out his third most favourite pair of trainers. He especially wants to forget the part where he was harassed almost to tears by a stranger in public, in front of his kids. He’s afraid to mention it to Harry.

“How’s LA?” he asks despite himself.

On the other end of the line, Harry sounds tired even though there’s lots of noise around him. Nick thinks he must be at the studio, or maybe Jeff’s office. “It’s good. How were the kids?”

“They’re good.” It’s not a complete lie. Nick had gotten both Paisley and Ginger down for a nap in the afternoon and they’d still been mostly tuckered out and ready for bed after supper, which made them easier to handle. He doesn’t mention that he let Clover watch movies all day or that he wishes Harry had stayed home. “You sound tired.”

“Look,” Harry starts, causing Nick’s chest to seize up uneasily. He sounds overworked and upset. Nick doesn’t feel ready for whatever he’s about to say, and his mind reels with terrible conclusions. That Harry’s extending his stay in America, that he finally realized how old Nick’s getting or maybe that someone’s called child protective services on him for letting Clover drink her cocoa too hot.

Nick waits silently, picking at a bead falling off the ornate arm of the chair.

“Nick I’m sorry,” Harry breathes, sounding relieved to have said it. Nick wasn’t expecting that - unless it’s about to be followed up with a but. “I’m sorry for being such a knobhead. Work’s just - it’s crazy. It shouldn’t even be crazy but it is and now I’m here and I miss you. I miss the kids so much. I should have said I love you at the airport. I feel like I’ve fucked it all up.”

“Me too,” Nick replies, sighing. It’s nice to hear. Not necessarily the apology, but that Harry loves him and misses the kids.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, and Nick can hear his brow furrowing in concern. He hears Harry leave the room, a door clicking shut and the background noise fading to almost nothing.

Nick just sighs again and a lump grows in his throat as he swallows to speak. “I’m such a terrible father,” he tells Harry. His eyes start to prickle.

“No. No Nick you’re not,” Harry tells him defensively. He sounds angry that Nick would ever come to that conclusion. “You’re the best dad.”

“But I’m not. I’m so shit and the whole fucking world knows, Harry.” His voice breaks on the last bit, shooting up to an octave he didn’t think he was capable of at this age.

“Nick, stop. What are you on about? Are you okay?”

Nick shoves the knuckles of his free hand between his teeth, trying to will away the tears. “No,” he relents, letting his head fall back against the chair. He starts to cry.

“Babe, Nick. What happened today? I’m here, tell me.” Nick hears him settle into a seat of his own, preparing for the shitstorm Nick is about to let loose on him.

So Nick tells him everything, from the bit where they got stuck on the M4 after dropping him off, how Paisley and Ginger wouldn’t stop crying in the car and everything up to the situation in the coffee shop. “And she just - this woman just goes ‘I hate to see a widowed family’ - a _widowed family_ , Haz,” he chokes through his tears. “She just kept going on about how hard it must be for me and the kids to live without their mum. She didn’t even ask or consider anything, just thought I had a dead wife.”

“Nick,” Harry clucks, sounding sad now.

Nick shoves a fingernail into his mouth and tries to calm down. It hurts a bit, reliving the whole thing. He still can’t believe he let a stranger embarrass him in public like that. “And the fucking kids were there. Like, Ging is small but she _gets it_. And I just fucking teared up, I couldn’t stop it. This stranger was just telling me that I’m basically unfit to be a parent and Clover - oh my god,” Nick starts laughing, gross and wet. “She - I love her. I love her to death. I’m standing there trying not to cry or punch this old woman and Clover just steps up and she-,” he takes another pause to laugh.

“What? God what did she do?” Harry asks, fully curious.

“She came up and stood beside me and said ‘actually my _other_ daddy is at work’!” Nick snorts, wiping his face as Harry barks out hysterically.

“I love her,” Harry tells him when he can catch his breath. “I’m sorry, that’s properly hilarious. She’s so smart. She loves us.”

“I know. I just - what if she thinks I’m a terrible dad?”

“She doesn’t, Nick. You know she loves us. Plus, she’s five, I think we’ve got a few years still before she starts claiming to hate you.”

Nick laughs and then sighs again. “God I’m not ready for that. You have to promise to be here every damn day of my life when she’s that age.” He pauses. “I still hate it when you go away.”

“I promise. I’m sorry, like I said. I shouldn’t have let my horrible mood come between us.”

It’s nice to have confirmation that Harry doesn’t hate him, but his own mood is still quite shit. “Gonna let the dogs sleep in the bed tonight. Need a good cuddle.” Nick wipes a hand across his face, rubbing away any remnants of tears.

“Wish I could be there. I’ll be home soon, okay?” He sounds tired, probably has major jetlag. It comforts Nick a bit though, the relaxed lull of his voice.

“Okay,” Nick repeats back, letting his head fall against the back of the chair again.

“You’re an excellent dad, Nick. I love you. I love you so much and you’re the kids entire world, alright?”

Nick nods his head. “Mhm.” He swallows again. He loves Harry, and that's why he's left out the part about the paparazzi storm. They can cross that bridge when the photos get published. If anyone buys them. “I love you too.”


End file.
